


In a Place

by Cesare



Series: Foster's Bakery [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Earth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-03
Updated: 2009-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to <a href="http://almostnever.livejournal.com/645056.html?thread=5178304#t5178304">a meme request</a>, a variation on the first scene of the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/2255">Foster's Bakery AU.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aqua_eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqua_eyes/gifts).



"Chocolate chocolate chip muffin," says the guy with the silver travel cup.

"The lady before you just got the last one."

"Aren't there more in the back? I still smell chocolate," the guy says. The person behind him snorts, not quietly, and third in line, the jackass with the ponytail pointedly checks his watch, turns, and leaves.

"There's more coming, but they won't be ready for a while. There's chocolate fudge cupcakes, that's basically the same."

The guy huffs in annoyance. "I want a muffin. _Fine,_ I'll wait." He takes in the few small tables surrounded by wrought-iron chairs and grimaces. "Where am I supposed to sit in the meantime? These things aren't furniture, they're ugly lawn ornaments. That dusty cardboard cutout really needs to go, too."

From behind the counter, Marshall skewers the guy with a look that used to make his Marines come to heel doubletime.

Too full of himself to notice, the guy waves his travel cup and gabbles on, "Who knows what's living in that thing, it could be completely infested, there could be whole _nests_ living in the base of it. This place has a great location, but the environment leaves a lot to be desired."

"If you have a problem with the building, talk to the owner," Marshall tells him. "He's right behind you."

Marshall has to give the cup guy a little credit, he doesn't try to weasel out of the awkward situation. He just turns around and tells Sheppard, "This is your place? You should really think about remodeling. Or at least getting some sittable chairs. The human ass was not meant to rest on a metal spiral. Can you imagine the kind of imprint that would leave? Not to mention the nerve damage. I'm getting sciatica just looking at them."

Sheppard looks the cup guy over like he's imagining exactly what kind of imprint those chairs would leave. Marshall hopes like hell that the cup guy's not gay, or that if he is, he takes Sheppard to _his_ place. Marshall could live a happier life if he never heard another session of quiet but unmistakable rhythmic thumps from the upstairs loft again.

Not to mention, the shouting in the back alley afterward, when Sheppard throws them out. If it didn't distract him from his own problems, the frequent drama going up and down the back stairs to the loft probably would have made him change locations by now.

The cup guy must not be that way, because he doesn't even clock the look, just waves his arm at the cardboard cutout. "And what about that thing? That can't be sanitary."

"Not a Fritz Lang fan?" Sheppard asks.

That gives the cup guy pause. He peers at the cutout. "That's Maria? She's so sunbleached, I couldn't even-- it _is._ Wow, robot Maria. Where do you even get something like that?"

"I found her in the alley, back of the building. Probably the movie theater had her in storage somewhere and finally threw her out."

Marshall's timer goes off, and he heads into the kitchen, pulling out a batch of bear claws and retrieving the chocolate chocolate chip muffins from the cooling rack.

By the time he comes back and rings up the muffin for the guy with the travel cup, the guy barely registers him, paying without looking while Sheppard says, "I could swear, I _remembered_ it in color, it just made that big an impression."

"For a long time I thought Jason and the Argonauts was in 3D," says cup guy. "I was sure at least the part with--"

"The skeletons,"

"Yeah," beams the guy.

Sheppard's actually smiling, which is a first by Marshall's light. "They do midnight movies on Wednesdays at the theater here. It's Clash of the Titans this week, you should come out for it. I'll save you a seat."

The cup guy gapes. Since he just bit into his muffin, it's not a pretty sight. "Are you _hitting_ on me?"

Marshall narrows his eyes, and the ease drops right off of Sheppard, replaced with the bullshit limp-noodle posture that covers the coiled tension Sheppard carries around.

The two of them don't talk any more than they have to. The things they have in common, neither of them want to discuss. Sheppard barely looked at Marshall's business plan, just said, "Veteran, huh," under his breath when he got to that part, and then he offered the place to Marshall at a steal on the rent, especially considering the corner location.

Of course, it didn't seem like such a steal once Marshall factored in the hassle of having Sheppard overhead and in and out of the place all the time, leading guys up and throwing them out like one night stands are going out of style.

Hell, Marshall doesn't even like Sheppard, but he'll whup the cup guy's ass if the dickwad makes a scene.

"I think the phrase you're looking for is 'no thank you,'" Marshall tells him.

The cup guy looks startled, like he forgot Marshall was even there, but he's right back to hubris and asperity in record time. "Shows what you know," he says, "the phrase I was looking for was more along the lines of 'yes please.' I was just," he frowns at Sheppard uncertainly. "Surprised."

"It's just a movie," says Sheppard, relaxing a little. "If you show up, I'll buy you popcorn."

"Well," says the cup guy, "if you buy it, I'll eat it. Huh. That sounded more suave in my head. I'm Dr. Rodney McKay, by the way. That's doctor as in astrophysics, not doctor as in, start reciting all your icky symptoms at me to try to get a free diagnosis."

Sheppard smiles again, a little dimmer than before, but still real. "John Sheppard. Nice to meet you."

Marshall resigns himself to seeing Dr. Rodney McKay come stumbling down those back stairs in the near future, bitching every step of the way.

Sheppard will kick him out; he kicks them all out. But from what Marshall's seen of him so far, McKay's not going to go quietly.


End file.
